Cheap Eats 2014: Pizza

Clackistan’s few foodniks boast about
Pronto Pizza for good reason. This wood-fired petroleum-fired pizzeria isn’t just the
best food in the tribal region to our south, it’s probably the best
pizza between Portland and San Francisco—with apologies to the truckstop
towns along the way. The secret, of course, is what you’d expect: This
strip-mall eatery is using the techniques used to craft that essence of
orbicular excellence, the pies of New Haven.

Pronto’s pricey doppio zero flour is imported from Italy
and goes through a three-day proofing period before being topped with
house-cured meats and baked at 650 degrees. Pies come out crispy, if a
little topping heavy, at about $20 for specialty pies that heartily
serve three adults. (At lunch, large slices go for $3.) The spacious
restaurant, which even has a few arcade cabinets, is outfitted with
stylish prints that have you all but forgetting you’re next to Pet ’N’
Pond.

Linda Shankweiler, who used to work for The Oregonian’s now-defunct Mix
magazine (you may remember it from such stories as “Coconut Water: A
Natural Alternative to Sports Drinks”), opened this shop with partner
Cynthia Cesnalis about a year ago. They’re doing yeoman’s work,
explaining to locals that, no, the pizza isn’t burnt and, yes, dinosaur
kale is a real thing that people sometimes eat. On our visit, one man
ordered a Base Camp S’more Stout from the impressive lineup of local
taps.

“They tell us to serve the stout with marshmallow on the rim,” the waitress explained.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” the man’s wife yelped.

They got the stout, along with one of the house’s fluffy
cakelike chocolate cookies. They seemed happy. Round Table should be
worried. MARTIN CIZMAR.

This slice shop on Southeast Stark is well-loved by the
crust cult. Baby Doll’s dough is exceptionally airy with a buttery
crispness. There’s a nice, uniform layer of cheese and Babydoll’s
pepperoni, which curls up to form little cups of red grease, also has
its ardent fans. The sauce is my gripe—it’s thin, dull and there’s far
too little of it. But if you’re not that into sauce, and most fans of
New York-style slices aren’t, it’s hard to find another pie in town that
can match Baby Doll’s cracker-y snap at 9 pm on a Tuesday. MARTIN CIZMAR.

Just a few blocks from Ken’s Artisan’s bougie,
char-crusted take on the pie, Dove Vivi is a family affair. The little
pizza house is every bit as crowded as Ken’s on a Friday night, but so
much of the crowd at Dove has tots in tow you’d think it was a dating
service for toddlers, who make eyes at each other among the tables. But
the adults look out for themselves, too: Dove’s well-selected beer list
recently included Pfriem Strong Dark—WW’s 2014 beer of the
year—the toppings include sausage both local and artisanal, and the
pizza’s even better the next day at work, when the sauce seeps into the
cornbread. MATTHEW KORFHAGE.

Thirty years’ worth of madcap collage lines every surface
of this iconic pizza spot, and you’ll probably catch a little
good-natured lip from owner Phil Geffner. Roll with it. The pizza crust
here is crisp but foldable, the tomato sauce sweet and plentiful, the
whole-milk mozzarella a solid quarter-inch thick atop each slice.
Escape’s slices can vary in quality, but the cheese can aspire to a
near-perfect rendition of New York-style side-street pizza: The oil
stays in the sauce, the cheese is thick but doesn’t stretch in burning
strands from the top of the slice, and the bottom of the crust has just
enough crispness to add texture without losing its doughiness. But pro
tip? EFNY’s slices with the housemade sausage are preferred to the
classic pepperoni. MATTHEW KORFHAGE.

Some people have very narrow and specific ideas about what
“good pizza” looks like. The majority of those so inclined tend to
argue that a thin, crispy slice with marinara dispensed by eyedropper is
the superior form, and that the breadier, saucier style preferred by
most Americans is somehow the result of inferior technology or flawed
tradition. To them I can only say: Shut the fuck up already. Big ups to
Apizza Scholls and Ken’s Artisan, but sometimes a man just wants a
classic Middle American slice with a big, doughy crust to support a sea
of milky mozzarella and way too much greasy pepperoni. So they go to
Montavilla’s Flying Pie, the best version of that pie in Portland. They
get a slice and a bowl for the salad bar for $7 and they shit-talk the
Yankees and the Red Sox. Ain’t nothing you can do about it, bro. MARTIN CIZMAR.

Hammy’s delivers pizza until 4 am. And
yet I’ll still happily get delivery from this Clinton Street shop at 4
pm. This porky shop—the meat selection includes pancetta, bacon and
Canadian bacon along with pepperoni and Italian Sausage—serves fragrant,
sauce-forward pies that’ll make an impression at any hour. The
standards are all well-prepared but the house specialties are wilder,
with bold flavor combinations like a cheeseburger pie with beef, bacon
and yellow mustard or a breakfast pie with roasted potatoes and
scrambled eggs plus herbs de Provence, bacon, garlic and Tapatio. MARTIN CIZMAR.

Handsome is the Pippa Middleton of Portland pizza. The
wide, crisp-bottomed pies from the domed wood oven in this former garage
on Killingsworth strongly resemble Scholls, Duchess of Hawthorne.
Handsome, however, lacks the sharp jawline of the queen-to-be,
instead sporting softer features that feel fresh, and maybe even sexier
in the right light. Gorgeous pies emerge from a super-hot wood-fired
dome in a few minutes, topped with the expected assortment of fresh
mozzarella, aged mozzarella, ricotta, basil, sausage and salame
piccante. The New York–Neapolitan crust gets a little too black and
biscuity, and could stand a dab of extra sauce—but really, at that point
we’re critiquing royal fashion. MARTIN CIZMAR.

Everything about Lonesome’s seems sordid and drunken: You
order out of a window cut into the side of Dante’s, whose bartenders
won’t let you in off the street unless you order a vodka tonic at 2 pm;
when you pay, the cashier casually remarks that they’re not allowed to
use tinfoil because the nearby addicts will steal it to smoke crack. So
it comes as a surprise that the pizza is actually…well, awesome. They
offer a variety of fresh, interesting toppings like potatoes and
arugula, perfectly cooked and layered on generous slices ($3.50-$4)
whose crisp crust belies a soft, chewy interior. It’s way better than
anyone—even drunk people!—expects their late-night pizza to be. AS.

Even in the distant wastes of St. Johns, we have no
shortage of pizza options. So why would we go to a food cart in a
parking lot, manned by a grizzled figure in an army jacket standing
forlornly in the winter wind? Because it’s awesome, duh. Contadino’s
sourdough crust is crisp yet chewy, and he makes his own sauce, which
occasionally includes a habanero sauce of some local renown. His
toppings include kale and capers, out of an impressive and ever-rotating
list. Slices range from $3-$4, with a 16-inch starting at $18, and grab
a drink at the Fixin’ To while you wait. ADRIENNE SO.

The cart pod at Southeast 12th and Hawthorne looks and
smells a little like junk-food alley at a county fair—which is pretty
much the role the late-night pod has served for the better half of a
decade. And at Pyro Pizza, you can have a 12-inch Margherita delivered
right into your hot little hands for less than the price of a couple
“guess your weight” games: a mere $7 for a pie with local ingredients.
For the meat eaters out there, the fennel sausage ($9) is the perfect
combination of sweet red onion and salty pork. Pyro also offers
cart-made sodas, not to mention some free philosophy on the side. “Let
me live,” reads the forearm ink of the nighttime pizzaiolo. Indeed. DEBORAH KENNEDY.